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lirik lagu minute kings – payday monsanto

“checkmate”

“we place you, king louis under a raft”

“but…dot, dot, dot, you don’t understand”

“take him away”

yo…yo, just like smoky do, i gotta try somethin’ new, everyday a brand*new style i must accrue, i got a slew, but only a few, is built for you to withstand. man, i always come through, like a nana print on lil’ kim’s velvet tights, i’ll serve ‘ya crack, some sh*t they should sell with pipes, i murder tracks, and dwell with dyk*s, don’t even insert the jack, you should just say “to h*ll with mics.” let the devil do it, son that’s an iniquitous deed, alot of men have tried it, but they didn’t succeed, hand me the mic, and all my dastardly greed, you’ll burn your fingers tryin’ to hit, when you get it back, like passin’ me weed. son, it’s lose/lose i bruise fools who choose to confuse, the fact they only put here to amuse. doubt that? then, get a fat c*ck to peruse. me without truth? that’s like matlock without clues. clowns better say “f*ck it” if they even consider pressin’ they luck, with this n*gga here’ll leave ‘ya bitter. yeah, like a buck hit of salt, it ain’t my fault your b*tch love it, like ice rock, i keep mics hot, you can’t touch it…

aww, naw…this ain’t a diamond ring tune, all i bring’s boom, and the king’s doomed, then i run up in the king’s tomb, take the king’s son, (sun) king’s stars, and king’s moon. call the king dumb, throw salt in the king’s wound, secure the king’s throne, then bone the king’s womb. throw the crown down, then smile at the king’s gloom, it’s a wonderful thing being in the king’s room, and just think…you might get to be the king soon…

hmmm, if i was the lucky guy that reigned supreme, i’d keep crazy concubines, go insane with cream, put all of you little peasants on a train with steam, then do everything i can to try to drain your dream. make you run around, juggle different things, and scheme, then feel content when i hear you complain, and scream. i’d make all my harlequins entertain unclean, let out a big fart, and then blame the queen. my ex*wife bought strife, i mean derranged obscene, caught that b*tch f*ckin’ around, they found my main in stream. now, i’m candid with my side joint, the dame is mean. put the granite up to my point, arranged the team, told the fake ones that claim they sheen, they fame is green, my game’s pristine, but i ain’t playing to gleam, i spill like fine wine, on your lame regime, your name ain’t gotta be einstein to aim a beam…

this ain’t a diamond ring tune, all i bring’s boom, and the king’s doomed, then i run up in the king’s tomb, take the king’s son, (sun) king’s stars, and king’s moon. call the king dumb, throw salt in the king’s wound, secure the king’s throne, then bone the king’s womb. throw the crown down, then smile at the king’s gloom, it’s a wonderful thing being in the king’s room, and just think…you might get to be the king soon…

by all means, you know i’m trying to stock up on greens, but f*ck props from tinseltown backlots, & movie scenes. if you could enter my mind, you’d start finding things. much more exquisite than carbonated wine, or diamond rings. what some call flows, i see as dried up streams, mc’s need to get p*ssed on, like latrines, parked the sub*machines with the green & red beams, unarmed i’d still leave behind a string of dead kings. i remember t**tering on the brink of “i don’t give a flyin’ f*ck”, now it’s seeming like i’m already there, with iron trucks dumping my frills, pressed against a tempered steel mil, many seem to have forgotten the meaning of real sk!lls. so, other cat’s methods they try’n eye ’em up, sh*t’s depressing, like innocent kids dying struck by strays, this rap sh*t’s got duck for days, like it’s a game. they really trying to f*ck with payze? oh my god, yo times is gettin’ hard, landlord like man, f*ck milk, you got barred. so, i chill with starving artists, who walk the streets heartless, united, knowing just what it’s like to eat garbage, out the can, and man i’m pressed to say we sick of that. so, i had to search for a better way to get a stack, then increase it, f*ck with a tax less frequent, it’s tough to get cash, without the state tryin’ to police it. they froze & seekin’ info on what you holdin’, the higher my bracket, the less of that sh*t i’m disclosing, if needed my assets’d be driven in tanks, to the coast, put on boats, and brought to switzerland banks. i ain’t tryin’ to reason with heathens, lying & thieving, justice consists of rich folks buying they freedom, i ain’t got them things yet, and i ain’t dying to see them. someone introduce me to the king? i’m dying to meet ’em…

“checkmate. first, look at how the king moves. although the king is the most important piece, it is also the weakest. to win the game, the king must rely on the rest of his army.”

“your majesty”

“ooo*ooh”
“it’s good to be the king”

*samples are from mel brooks’s 1981 film “the history of the world, part i”

- payday monsanto

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